


Two Agencies and a Body Between Them

by Hunter_Caprittarius



Category: Lie to Me (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Cussing, Detectives, Father-Son Relationship, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 04:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter_Caprittarius/pseuds/Hunter_Caprittarius
Summary: The officer was sputtering over the phone. "Sir, we don't know–""Do I sound like I give a damn!" Cal had a death grip on the phone "Do I sound like I give a damn that you don't fucking know!""Sir, we–""FIND HIM!" The phone crashed into the far wall. the screen cracked satisfyingly, but it wasn't enough. Cal was at the wall in a second, ramming his foot into the phone until it sparked."FUCKING FIND HIM!" Cal screamed, knowing the officer couldn't hear him.





	Two Agencies and a Body Between Them

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a test run for a Prodigal Son and Lie To Me crossover.

Cal Lightman is always in control. He's spent years mastering the art of control. It's really quite simple if you think about it.

If you know the what about a person you're well on your way to finding the why. Once you have found the why, all you have to do poke and prod them in the direction you want them to go. Cal Lightman is the best at this; he almost instantly knows the what's and why's of every person he meets. Meaning, he can control almost everyone he meets.

Control in that form is a drug. It's addictive in the same way sex or alcohol is. Your classmate is addicted to good grades. The man begging for chnge by the Quickmart is addicted to ciggaretes. Cal Lightman is addicted to control. And just like when a druggie is trying to go clean, or an alcoholic sober, Cal's addiction comes packaged with withdrawal symptoms.

Cal Lightman is experiencing withdrawal. Cal Lightman is not in control.

•°•°•°•

The officer was sputtering over the phone. "Sir, we don't know–"

"Do I sound like I give a damn!" Cal had a death grip on the phone "Do I sound like I give a damn that you don't fucking know!"

"Sir, we–"

"FIND HIM!" The phone crashed into the far wall. the screen cracked satisfyingly, but it wasn't enough. Cal was at the wall in a second, ramming his foot into the phone until it sparked.

"FUCKING FIND HIM!" Cal screamed, knowing the officer couldn't hear him.

•°•°•°•

Malcom Bright took a deep breath of downtown air. His nostrils burned with the smell of gasoline and asphalt, the makings of a great city. God, today was a going to be a good day, he could feel it.

He hung off his balcony and looked over the city. The sky was still an early morning shade of violet-blue. Malcom was already dressed, having longed for the safe, sophisticated protection offered by a crisp suit immediately after waking up. He must have made a pretty picture: slick hair and refined clothes, lounging on a balcony at o'dark in the morning. Probably looked like something straight out of a movie.

Malcom stared right at the sun as it rose, letting it burn his eyes awake. Every second dragged him further into the waking world and farther away from night time and the terrors that accompanied it. Every millimeters the sun crept up on the horizon was a millimeter closer to Malcom's good day. He smiled at the thought.

His nights may be full of terror, but his days....oh, his days. His days held promise, purpose, wonder. His days held a glorious semblance of order and normalcy, as normal as someone like Malcom could get. In only a few hours he could throw himself body soul into his job. He would get to peel back the layers of the crime scene, the criminal mind, and he'll, sometimes he even got to peel back the layers of people. Not in the way his father had, of course, but during autopsies.

Just a few more hours, and–his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey, kid," it was Gil, "look, I know it's early, but th–"

Malcom cut him off, "I'm on my way."

•°•°•°•

JT groaned audibly when Malcom rolled up to the crime scene. Malcom gave him a shit-eating grin. "Hey, Jamie, how's it kicking?"

"JT," JT said in correction.

Malcom bounded up the stairs leading to the building but a pale hand barred his way, Gil stood at the end of it. "Malcom...." He said warningly.

Malcom rolled his eyes, "Gil, I know, don't touch the body."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Gil said, "did you sleep at all last night?"

"Yeah," said Malcom, shortly.

Gil looked unconvinced, "How many hours?"

"A solid three, happy?" Said Malcom, ducking under Gil's arm and into the building.

"Malcom!" Gil called after him, but he didn't sound too upset, so Malcom just gave him a smirk before continuing in.

Dani met him halfway and, with a perturbed look in Gil's direction, gave Malcom the run down.

"This building had used to a three star restaurant called "Foudi" but was converted to a cheap karaoke club when Foudi decided they wanted to take a jab at becoming a four star restaurant on the other side of town."

As they walked, they passed closed doors on either side of the hallway. They were little karaoke booths but all were empty.

"So, what," said Malcom, "someone get sick of hearing their buddy belting Sia and murder them?"

Dani frowned, "You wouldn't be here if it were that simple." Dani led them to an old looking metal door. "Some of the rooms from the resturant, like freezers and some of the kitchens, were too expensive for the karaoke club to remove. So they blocked them off. She opened the door, revealing a disused sous kitchen full of cops.

Malcom whistled, "Someone was murdered in here? Where are they? You can hardly fit a stove in here."

Dani gestured towards the freezer. "Word if warning, it's pretty bad" she said. Malcom just shrugged. Some cops moved out of the way as he approached. Inside the freezer, the body was covored with a sheet. Malcom reached towards it.

"You literally just said you weren't going to touch anything." Gil said, coming up behind him.

Malcom rolled his eyes, "Seriously, Gil? How am I supposed to to do this if I can't see the body?"

Gil aquiessed and waved someone over to remove the sheets with gloves.

"Aw, man," groaned JT, "that's messed up.

The victim was a young man about Malcom's age and, yikes. His back was covered in third degree burns and his legs were frostbitten. Not to mention, the ridiculous bruising covering almost the kid's entire body.

Malcom turned to Dr. Tanaka, "do we know which one actually killed him? The burns of the frost bite?"

She started, "U-uh, no. Not yet. We don't know the o-order that the injuries occurred in yet, so we can't be sure until we take him to the lab. O-oh, oh! But! Look," she pointed at the burns, "we can tell that these were caused by boiling water and not fire."

Malcom nodded, "I see, because there's no charred skin."

Dr. Tanaka nodded enthusiastically.

Malcom stood, "You guys think this is the first victim of a serial killer?"

Dani nodded, "We think it's pretty likely, I mean, why else would you kill someone with burns AND frostbite? It's probably their calling card."

Malcom nodded and looked back at the body. The boy was completely naked on the floor, bleeding from his burns. Hot and cold. Two extremes. If he were a killer, why would he kill this boy with two opposite extremes? To send a message.

"This might be political. Have we ID'd him yet?"

JT handed him a price on paper, "why would this be political?"

Malcom ignored him and scanned the paper, "This guy was killed to send a message. Question is, to who?"

Malcom straightened his tie and walked out.

"Malcom! Where are you going?" Said Gil.

"To Mr. Loker's place of work. Come on."

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Eli! 😥
> 
> But maybe he's not dead?? 🤔


End file.
